


Behind Every Beautiful Thing (There's Some Kind of Pain)

by IreneADonovan



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Beach Divorce (X-Men), Blood and Injury, Drabble Collection, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, bullet wounds, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-15 06:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20861750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: A collection of my drabbles for Whumptober 2019. Mostly Cherik, 100% Angst... 100 words according to GoogleDocs, no matter what AO3 says.





	1. Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Bob Dylan.
> 
> I decided I couldn't resist doing at least a few of the Whumptober prompts...
> 
> cw: bullet wounds and blood

His hands shook as they hadn't in decades, hadn't since he was a child, since he was at Shaw's mercy.

The bullet was warm in his palm, slick with Charles' blood, and he cast it onto the sand, pulled Charles into his arms.

A part of him knew then what the bullet had cost Charles, registered the utter stillness of his lower body, understood the significance of where the bullet had struck.

His conscious mind shied away from that knowledge.

And so his hands shook as he told Charles what he wanted, what they wanted.

But Charles sent him away.


	2. Explosion

_I can't hold him_, Charles projected moments before the mutant's power exploded outward like a bomb. He watched, horrified, as Erik was thrown into a wall by the blast.

_Erik!_ Charles rushed forward, powering his way through the debris field until he could go no farther, then pulling himself on his elbows the rest of the way to his husband's side. _Erik!_

Erik lay far too still as Charles rested a hand on his chest, but his breaths were reassuringly steady.

"Erik." _Stay with me. Please._

After a few more frightening moments, Erik's eyelids fluttered and he groaned. _I'm here.___


	3. Fever

Charles had a fever. A troubling sign, nearly as troubling in its own way as the utter absence of sensation and movement below the bullet wound.

Charles was almost certainly permanently paralyzed. Any chance of preserving function had been lost when Erik and Raven had gone, taking any hope of prompt treatment with them.

Had Raven had any clue just how badly her brother was injured? Probably not. Hank couldn't believe her that callous.

Now Hank could only hope that they would find a soul on the northern coast brave enough to buck two superpowers and smuggle them to Florida.


	4. Delirium

"Stay with me, Charles. Damnit, stay with me." Hank mopped Charles' fevered brow with a damp cloth as Charles gazed at him with glassy blue eyes.

"Erik?" Charles asked. "Where's Erik?"

It was a small mercy that fever had driven memory of Erik's betrayal from Charles' mind. The wound in his back still bled, sapping his strength, leaving him vulnerable to fever and infection.

Their journey had been agonizing, forced into hiding, travelling under cover of night with the professor gravely injured, spine shattered, fighting for life. The ninety miles to the Florida coast might as well be a million.


	5. Human Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Explosion.

"You're an idiot." Hank's voice was level as he methodically tweezed glass fragments from Erik's skin.

Erik remained stoic, with only an occasional slight flinch when Hank dug deeper.

"You can't deflect glass or plastic," Hank continued. "What were you thinking?"

"That Charles was in danger," Erik said, tone sharp. _Why else?_

Charles caught the thought, projected back, _I didn't know you cared_.

Erik's expression softened. _I love you, you know._

_Then worry about your own hide. I lived without you once. I can't bear to do it again._

_I'll try. Don't put yourself in danger._

_No promises._

_Same here._


	6. Gunpoint

Moira was shooting at him. Silly human. As if that could ever work. He swatted the bullets away.

And heard a scream, a drawn-out, pain-filled shriek.

Charles.

Erik spun, saw Charles fall face-down to the sand.

Time slowed, nearly stopped, as Erik scrambled to his side. Charles lay still, too still, only a soft moaning proof he still lived.

The bullet felt ugly, wrong, buried in Charles' back, and Erik pulled it out, his powers steady no matter how much his hands shook.

Moira had done this. She had to pay.

He found the chain round her neck, twisted it.


	7. Dragged Away

"I can't feel my legs."

The words, repeated quietly, shakily, chilled Hank to the bone despite the tropical warmth.

"I need to see the wound," he told Moira. "Help me roll him over. Carefully."

He looked at Sean and Alex. "Find me poles and fabric so we can carry him out of here."

The wound was deceptively small, blood flowing freely. "Find the plane's med kit," he told Moira.

By the time he got the bleeding stopped, Moira, Sean, and Alex had fashioned a travois.

They settled Charles on it gently as they could and set off across the sand.


	8. Isolation

Ten years alone, without even the solace of metal. It would drive most men mad. Or was he mad?

He saw things. Dreams? Visions? Memories? No, more than mere memories.

Charles stood before him. Stood. As he couldn't in the real world.

'You're not real," he told the illusion. "Go away." 

"I'm as real as you want me to be." Charles closed the distance between them, kissed Erik senseless. He tasted like scotch, rich and warm and earthy.

Erik surrendered.

When he returned to himself, to the reality of his isolated cell, he could still taste scotch on his lips.


End file.
